


Five Vulcans Jim Met, One He Kept

by surrenderdammit



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: "Sarek the Cool Cucumber" is my new fav phrase ever, 5 + 1, 5 Things, Allusions to Child Abuse, Allusions to PTSD, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Gen, Humor, Hurt James T. Kirk, Hurt/Comfort, Jim Kirk Fanclub, M/M, Oblivious James T. Kirk, Panic Attacks, Romance, Tarsus IV, Teenage Vulcan Crushes, Touch Telepathy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-31
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-01-10 17:19:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1162417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surrenderdammit/pseuds/surrenderdammit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What it says on the tin!</p><p><i>“Basically, she wanted to put her hands all over my huge ass belly, and get up close and personal with Jimmy using that nifty touch telepathy of yours,” Winona concludes. Spock looks horrified and Jim is torn between face-palming and bursting out in hysterical laughter. “Talk about</i> alien probing.<i>”</i></p><p>
  <i>He settles for both.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. T'Lana

.

The first Vulcan Jim ever has contact with is not someone he remembers. His mother, many years later with Spock by his side, tells him about it in a fond but a wary voice (their relationship is, was, and probably always will be, strained). The Vulcan was part of a team of scientists from the VSA, stationed on the _Kelvin_ during what was to become its last voyage. She was called T’Lana, youngest in her group and perhaps the most curious, if Vulcans can be described as such (Jim knows they can. He has a theory of them actually being the nosiest bastards in creation (this was his opinions before the creepy Asshole Aliens – Assloanians or something – that collected ‘peculiar species’ for their ‘scientific displays’. In other words: _zoos_. Bones has still got Jim’s glittery loincloth framed somewhere)). She had expressed her interest in the human pregnancy cycle and put forward a formal request to attend the routine physical check-ups of Winona Kirk and her unborn son.

“Basically, she wanted to put her hands all over my huge ass belly, and get up close and personal with Jimmy using that nifty touch telepathy of yours,” Winona concludes. Spock looks horrified and Jim is torn between face-palming and bursting out in hysterical laughter. “Talk about _alien probing_.”

He settles for both.

Spock clears his throat as discreetly as he can, but still ends up sounding distinctly strangled (a sure sign of extreme emotional scarring, which is on par with conversing with any Davieses, really. People who assume the crazy comes from the Kirk side of the family has not done their research; Winona Davies is still a name which sets fear in the hearts of…well, most of the ‘Fleet, actually). “I can only speculate that she wanted to establish some sort of mental contact with a growing fetus, perhaps to investigate the brain activity of a psi-null individual not yet fully formed. Did she succeed?”

Winona smiles, a little wistfully. “Eventually, yes. Jimmy was apparently a charmer even then, ‘cause she kept coming back, going on about dynamic minds and how fascinating it was that I didn’t have a telepathic bond, yet there was clearly something there which she couldn’t define.” She pauses, an old sadness marring her face. “Her last little mental cooing and Vulcan baby-talk with Jimmy was just three days before the attack. She didn’t survive to see him born.”

‘She wasn’t that lucky’, she thinks, but doesn’t add. ‘Not as lucky as I.’

.


	2. T'Pring

.

The second Vulcan Jim (she knows him as Davies) meets is less interested in him and more resentful, at first. Her name’s T’Pring and she’s 15 (‘—point 32 Earth—‘) years old to Davies’ 13. Her mother works within agricultural sciences and T’Pring helps maintaining the school’s primitive technology as practical exercise. Davies is more interested in the sharp tilt of her eyebrows, the curve of her breasts and the length of her legs, than anything else when they first meet. He says she’s a delightful bundle of prickly, teenage angst that snipes and snaps like a pissed off feline that’s been dumped in ice cold water whenever he’s around, and he finds it hilarious. She does not, of course.

“Why are you here then, if it’s so illogical?” he asks once, after listening to her ‘bitch’ (illogical, she is merely expressing her opinion, and it has nothing to do with the female canine) about humans and ‘egging her on’ with ‘helpful comments’ that she ‘totally appreciates somewhere in that dark, cold heart of hers’ (she’s quoting in an attempt to make sense of the garbled use of Standard they boy seems to prefer. She is not amused, definitively not. Because that would imply _positive feelings_. Towards _Davies_ ).

“As you know, I am bonded to a Half-Human, and this colony consist of 74.209% Human inhabitants. My Father believed, as Mother was given an opportunity to work here, that it would be logical for me to accompany her for a short period of time in order to gain further understanding of my future bondmate,” she does not snap. Or growl.

“I’ll never get over the fact that you’re _married,_ ” Davies muses, kicking his feet back and forth where he sits on top of the counter T’Pring’s manning. “But anyway, it _does_ sound logical. I take it you don’t agree?”

She huffs, her dark skin flushed slightly green from her agitation. “There are already Humans stationed on Vulcan. It’s _illogical_ to move here in order to observe them, when I can already do that at home.”

Davies hums and titles his head, watching her glare balefully at the computer station. “The point isn’t to observe though, is it? More like, actually _live_ with us and _experience_ us. Less of the ‘us’ versus ‘them’ though, and more of, I don’t know, some good old IDIC?”

Surprised, T’Pring snaps her gaze to his and stares for a moment. “I was unaware that you were familiar with the Vulcan philosophies.”

Rolling his eyes, Davies snatches a PADD from the pile of faulty, ignored ones waiting for repair. “Contrary to popular belief, I’m neither stupid _nor_ ignorant. I _have_ been listening to what you’ve been saying the last few weeks, you know. It’s mostly a pile of xenophobic, angsty bullshit and petty whining, but if you choose to treat this as a _punishment_ rather than an _opportunity_ , that’s obviously your choice.”

T’Pring is silent for a while as Davies starts to work, watching him out of the corner of her eye as she fiddles with the computer they’re using to analyze the communication failure of the school’s PADDs and communicators that’s been occurring. It’s a time-consuming, if mind-numbingly boring, past-time (a job for T’Pring, almost always detention for Davies).

“The control of my emotions has been slipping to the point where I have allowed my frustration to guide my words and actions. I have…expressed them upon you for 2.3 weeks, yet you have not retaliated with angry words – or actions – of your own.”

Davies seems to be waiting for more and when she refuses to elaborate, he looks over to find her squirming in discomfort. “Well, I don’t give much of a shit what you think of me or ‘us Humans’. Haters gonna hate, and all that. Besides, you’re just homesick and angry ‘cause you’ve got no control of the situation. We all lash out.”

“Haters gonna hate?” she repeats, frowning slightly and ignoring the rest of his comment and its implications. 

“Yeah. Basically means that you just can’t change some people’s minds about some things. If they’re set on hating you, nothing you’re gonna do will ever change that. They’ll find something bad in anything you do, even if it’s not,” he shrugs, trying and failing to not sound bitter.

“Disregarding the argument for what defines as ‘good’ and ‘bad’, this implies one should not bother to ‘do good’, when it will all be ‘bad’ all the same,” she points out, titling her head. Davies bites his lip, humming in thought.

“Well, that’s one way to do it,” he agrees. “Or, you could think of it like this; there are some people out there who will always rationalize some things in order for these things to always be ‘bad’, just as they would ‘good’. Wouldn’t you rather be someone who sees the potential of ‘good’, then? Like, an opinion which remains stale solely by refusing to invite further perspectives and thus knowledge, isn’t that illogical? Let’s take your hybrid husband, for example. “ T’Pring makes a noise of protest but is ignored. Spock is _not_ her _husband_. Yet. “From the way you emphasize his _Human_ half whenever you speak of him, and the way you’ve spoken of Humans, I gather you find him lacking. You focus on what you perceive as Human _weaknesses_ and failings, and project them on him, disregarding the fact that beyond our species, we’re actual _individuals_. There’ll always be strengths and weaknesses; what makes _you_ weak might make _him_ strong.” T’Pring blinks. “Of course, I can’t really expand much further on this argument as I don’t even know the guy’s name, and you’ve painted him in a pretty bleak light so far, but for the sake of argument, y’know.”

“Of course,” she says, slightly dazed. “There are many flaws in your argument, but it seems I have been remiss in dismissing you as stimulating company.”

Davies grins, and winks. “Oh Catwoman, just you wait. I can be plenty _stimulating_ for a pretty thing like you!” 

She laughs for the first time in… _years_ , then. Well, it’s a small huff of a giggle but leaves her completely startled and unnerved. Narrowing her eyes, she turns back sharply to her computer. “We have much work to accomplish before 1600. You have distracted us long enough.”

.

Communications continue to fail, and it spreads. Crops die. _People_ die. She touches her fingers to his temple and calls him _friend_ in her dead Mother’s tongue, weak from cold and hunger (a moment of delusion). They survive, barely. They’re neither on the _good_ list, which is irony. She’s _Vulcan_ , and Davies’ health is considered fragile (a drain on resources, a burden for the colony) due to too many allergies.

“My Father would have felt my Mother die. Her bonds have been severed,” she rasps, huddled close for warmth. There are more children hiding with them now, mostly thanks to Davies’ illogical (but _good_ , she realizes) refusal to leave them behind. It’s a number she knows will be declining.

“Sounds like hell,” he mutters. She’s silent. “Hey, how’re you holding up?”

“I’m…unstable. I…the bond, it _aches_ ,” she whispers in desperation, her hands shaking. Jim covers them with his own, squeezing gently. There’s nothing erotic about it, just gentle waves of affection and fierce protection. She breaks, but his hope and determination holds her together for just a little bit longer. When Starfleet finally arrives, when _help comes_ , they bring her _Father_ and _food_ and _warmth_ and _sleep_.

They separate her from Davies. Perhaps this too is a good thing (as his strength, as his _will to live_ ). He says he wants to leave all of Tarsus IV behind, _all of it_ , and that would mean leaving her behind too, wouldn’t it?

She tries to locate him nonetheless, if only to send him a message (they never said good bye, she forgot to demand he _lives long_ and _prospers_ ). She only finds a ‘T. Davies’ before the records are sealed beyond her ability to access (legally or otherwise). She considers for a moment to ask Spock for help – he is unmatched in his skill of handling computers, after all – but that would be…illogical. She has done him few favors in the past, and she doubts he has any favors now to grant her because of it.  

(Upon Vulcan’s destruction, while away on a science vessel on commission of the VSA, she has collected approximately 3.4 ‘postcards’ a year after parting ways with Davies. She learns after the third one that his actual name is James Tiberius Kirk. Each of their ‘little group of survivors’ have received one, though hers had remained the most constant over the years. She is inexplicably relieved she keeps them – and many other illogical keepsakes – at her Earth residence, before she ‘soldiers on’ and deals with yet another _tragedy_ ).  

What she does, upon returning to Vulcan, is…to demand they break her betrothal bond to Spock.

To her Father and the healers, she claims to be too emotionally compromised to properly balance a Half-Human’s _already_ compromised mental discipline. It is, perhaps, partly true. It takes her a number of years (5.6 Earth years) to achieve a satisfactory mastery of mind and emotion as expected of a Vulcan female her age. Her Father has it done with perhaps surprisingly little questions regarding her reasoning, but she finds herself relieved. She has spent long enough _defending_ herself on _that_ planet to do it here.

To Spock, she tells the full truth (she has new respect for Humans now, and she understands the world a little better, questions it a little more). She intends to follow in her Mother’s footsteps. There is a _burning need_ somewhere deep down, to prevent _that_ happening again (rotten fields, burning flesh, _hunger_ ). While she does this, she does not intend to be bound somewhere (to some _one_ ) not of her _own_ choosing. She touches his cheek with her fingers and allows him to feel the truth of her words, the fondness she has uncovered for him that is more _brother_ than _beloved_.  

They part as friends.

.


	3. Sarek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a while. Whopps.
> 
>  **WARNINGS:** Panic attack, PTSD, allusions to child abuse, Tarsus IV, Vulcan's destruction.
> 
>  
> 
> **Okay, some things I want said first:**
> 
>  
> 
> I have never suffered a panic attack. 
> 
> I took creative license describing it, drawing on how I've read it being described before. People's experience of it can differ, and it's in no way a thing to take lightly. I had no intentions of being offensive when I wrote it, and I do sincerely hope that I will not offend anyone, but if you do get put off by reading of panic attacks written by someone who hasn't experienced them, **please don't subject yourself to this**. But if you want to read anyway, and feel you can and want to be helpful, I more than welcome advice and tips on how to alter it if I've made it come across awfully wrong :)  <3
> 
> That said, Sarek will come off as a little OOC in this. He's a bit more emotional. It's not explained why in the story, because this is Jim's PoV and he doesn't know what Sarek's usual behaviour is, but my reasoning for the way Sarek acts you can find in the end notes :)

.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Jim Kirk will remember. But on the _Enterprise_ , during and after Nero, he’s haunted by a niggling sense of familiarity whenever Ambassador Sarek nudges his perception. It’ll take him a while – until their first (actually second) real interaction – for it to click. Jim blames the stress, and his ability to wrap bad shit up and hide them under a carpet in his mind so he doesn’t have to look at it. Most of his childhood is there, gathering dust mites, actually.

(Hey, it’s how he functions. It works.)

.

He is fifteen years old and an open, festering wound: angry at the world, angry at the _universe_ , at himself. He hasn’t been to his therapy sessions for weeks, mainly because his mother is no longer around to forcefully drag him there, and Frank…well, Frank couldn’t give less of a shit. As far as Frank is concerned, Jim’s either locked up in his room or out drinking and/or screwing anything that moves.

Which is funny, because currently Jim is blowing spitballs of paper on a Starfleet monument in San Francisco. It’s of Zefram Cochrane and a Vulcan, honoring the First Contact. Jim’s managed to lob a ball of paper onto Cochrane’s nostril, making it look like he’s got a white bugger hanging out. Very amusing to a fifteen year old with a questionable sense of humor.

Not so amusing to the red-faced Starfleet officer coming at him like a raging bull, practically fuming out of his ears. Jim doesn’t notice until it’s too late, however, since the man had chosen to attack from behind. It happens fast: one minute, Jim’s trying to hit the metal Vulcan in the head, the next he’s got an unknown hand wrapped around the back of his neck, shaking him, while a booming voice makes his ears ring.

It’s not pretty.

Time slows: he can feel his heartbeat everywhere, quickening along with his breath, and the ringing in his ears gets worse until it’s a menacing buzz, muting the world and narrowing his sight to blurry colors and sharp, jerky movements.

He’s losing himself. There’s no air, he can’t move, he can’t _think_. The air smells like cloying death: dead wheat, dead bodies, rotten fruits and rotten flesh. His stomach clenches – _he’s so hungry_ , he’s so _thirsty_ and _tired_ and _scared_ – they’re dying, _they’re not coming for them, they’re leaving us to die_.

It stops.

There’s a blanket wrapped around his mind, warm and comfortable and home-made by someone’s grammy. It smells of someone’s home: lived-in, loved. It’s like a gentle, warm hand settles on his head, fingers combing through his hair like his mom used to do when he was smaller and looked less like his father. It’s like a cup of hot chocolate warming his hands, like T’Pring’s fingers on the side of his head whispering _friend_ in languages that goes beyond the physical. He feels a shock of surprise, but dismisses it. There’s nothing to be surprised at in his own mind, he knows the dark spots so well, knows what’s been torn open and left to rot. There’s a sadness somewhere. He can relate: he’s a sad excuse of a human being. The blanket tightens around him and he feels like he’s just taken a breath after being under water for too long. Relief pours over him and he snuggles closer to that feeling of warmth, to the steady beat of a heart.

.

 When Jim opens his eyes, it’s like waking up after having blacked out. He’s done it enough to not panic at gaining consciousness between one moment and the next. It doesn’t make it less unpleasant or disorientating, however, and it takes a few beats before reality sets in.

He’s inside, on a (godawful, uncomfortable-as-fuck, must-be-made-of-rock) couch. The walls and ceiling are muted, brown- and reddish colors, the lights dim but strong enough to not strain your eyes. Jim instantly likes it, because it’s not the clinical white of claustrophobic hospitals, nor the dull grey of indifferent official buildings where souls go to die a slow death. There are three doors; each with a lock he estimates would take 4 to 5 minutes to hack. Two security cameras, five blind spots. A heavy looking figurine blunt enough to knock someone out, a small table to swing around if you’re in a pinch, and a stick-like object if push came to shove.

The tell-tale pressure of restraint around his wrist is, surprisingly, the last thing that registers. Jim instantly tenses, because that should’ve been the first thing, the absolute vital thing, to act on. He’s punched people trying to wake him by shaking his shoulder. He’s stopped, dropped, and rolled when someone’s tried to grab his attention by tugging at his sleeve. The flight or fight reflex is his most finely honed one, but for some reason, it hasn’t been triggered by whoever is holding his wrist in a steady but firm grip.

For some reason, a blanket comes to mind. Jim wrinkles his nose in confusion, but finally turns his head to see who’s got a hold of him.

He blinks, and sits up. It’s an old Vulcan.

“I am not even considered middle aged by my people, Mister Kirk. I am not old.”

Jim jerks in shock, but then belatedly remembers _touch telepathy_ and frowns down at where they’re connected.

“I apologize,” the Vulcan dude (his funny eyebrow twitched at that) says, before withdrawing his hand. Jim’s wrist is left feeling oddly warm, and tingly. He rubs at it. “Given the fraught mental state I found you in, and the considerate amount of time it took to calm it, I wished to prevent further strain on your mind that the shock of regained consciousness could potentially cause.”

 “Um, thanks?” was all Jim could say to that, because he’s just now putting things together and making sense of his situation. He shakes his head, attempting to clear it, before narrowing his eyes and eying the Vulcan. “I was… _admiring_ the Cochrane statue.” Never implicate yourself. “I had a panic attack? I blacked out, for some reason, anyway. You must’ve found me, or someone must’ve brought me to you, or something. We’re most likely at the Vulcan embassy, considering it’s pretty close to where I last remember being.” He shifts uncomfortably. “Do y’know what happened to me?”

The Vulcan tilts his head in what appears to be confirmation. “While you were…admiring the monument,” he begins, something that could be amusement in the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes, before the stoic face settles into something that manages to somehow _exude_ disdain and disapproval for what he continues with. “There was a man – Starfleet Officer, Lieutenant Jones – who allowed his emotions to decide accosting a teenage human was a sound decision. He further proved his lack of rational thought and logic by continuing despite obvious and alarming signs of a panic attack. My wife and I… _intervened_.”

 Jim blinks and thinks he should feel worse about this than he does. The hot flush of shame that overtakes him after each humiliating incident like this over the years hasn’t come over him yet. There is a soothing calm in his mind he’s not accustomed to, and it makes him feel…weird.

“Thanks,” he mutters, finding himself uncharacteristically polite. Something about this Vulcan doesn’t incite him as everything else around him seems to do ever since _then_. He isn’t _angry_. He doesn’t feel like lashing out. Like he said, _weird_. “Uh. Who are you, exactly?”

The Vulcan does that head tilt thing again. “I am Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan.”

There’s a few beats of silence. “Holy fuck, you’re _shitting me_. Am _bassador?!_ ”

Frank is going to shit bricks if he ever finds out.

.

He does. Find out, that is. Not shit bricks, sadly.

He finds out because Vulcans are law-abiding stiffs who can’t see the totally valid logic in letting a fifteen year old human take care of himself with one legal guardian off in deep space and the other passed out on a ratty couch in Bumfuck Nowhere, Iowa. Jim finds this out after he gets picked up by the police and brought to a red-faced, frothing-at-the-mouth kind of angry Frank the day after he sneaked out of the Vulcan embassy behind the way-too-trusting Vulcans’ backs.

(It took him 3 minutes to hack the locks. Apparently wanting to get the hell out of dodge is illogical and thus not expected. He never got to meet Mrs. Sarek – Amanda Greyson, it turns out – much to his later regret.)

“You little shit,” Frank greets him. “Just you wait ‘til your mother hears of this!”

The calm he’d enjoyed from whatever voodoo Ambassador Sarek worked on his mind with that freaky telepathy thing is a thing of the past. He wants to punch the universe in the face again. Order has been restored.

“Oh fuck off.”

.

The _Enterprise_ is limping back to Earth and Jim is taking a moment to lick his wounds in a darkened corner of the observation deck when Sarek finds him.

They don’t really speak, merely stands next to each other for a while. Sarek is the one who finds his words first.

“Your mind was a field of devastation. I had experienced nothing like it, until now,” he begins, voice low and quiet. “I saw the wounds Tarsus IV had left on your mind, and the emotional and physical trauma abuse and neglect caused. For a Human, your mental strength was impressive. I came to the conclusion you belong to the low percentage of Humans that are not entirely Psi-null.”

Jim has no idea where this is going, but he’s torn between discomfort and being affronted – the Ambassador had looked deeper into his mind than Jim had assumed. If it was anything like the mind meld with the _other_ Ambassador he’d suffered through (and wasn't that a mind-fuck of its own), he might actually punch a wall. _Bad touch_. Vulcans clearly had a different view on what was and wasn’t off limits, touch-telepathy-wise.

“If this is your way of asking how to deal with – uh, a field of devastation? – this is me, telling you now, that I am _not_ your guy,” he warns instead. “I’m not exactly stellar at dealing with shit in a healthy, productive manner.”

Sarek looks at him, stoic as ever, but the eyes gives him away (it’s always the eyes with these people, Jim muses). “No. But it is…reassuring, to observe the continued survival. Of life determined to live. May we find the will to go on, Captain Kirk.”

Resting a hesitant hand on the Vulcan’s shoulder, Jim bows his head. “I grieve with thee.”

There is silence for a moment, before Sarek speaks, low and quiet into the space between them. “Thank you.”

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reason for Sarek's emotionalism during their first meeting is that having helped calm Jim's mental state through telepathy, there was some emotional transfer. His shields are a little less solid, and he was unsettled by what he learns that Jim has been through. So, a little less control over his emotions.
> 
> As for their second meeting, well. He's lost his planet and his wife, and almost lost his son. He's a cool cucumber but yeah, he is no machine.
> 
> *coughs* Anyway....
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! 8D


	4. Spock Prime & T'Sal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Very brief Spock Prime, more heavily focused on a teenaged Vulcan with a crush the size of the _Enterprise_. 
> 
> _Vulcans, Jim decides, are adorable little fuckers._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLYSHIT this took so much longer than I thought??? Like, I cannot believe it's actually been as long as it has?? WTF.
> 
> Anyway, um. This is a combined 4 & 5, though it's less focused on Spock Prime. I'm torn between making this a part 1 and the next chapter a part 2 where I expand a bit, or just making the next chapter the +1 chapter. We'll see :,D
> 
> But yeah, so sorry for taking so long! I hope you'll enjoy! <3

.

Meeting an older, alternative-universe-possibly- _batshit-crazy_ version of Commander Spock in the middle of a futuristic-Romulan-gone-murderously-insane crisis gone to _hell and beyond_ is an… _interesting_ experience. All Jim can say is that adrenaline is a fucking amazing stimulant; it’s no wonder he can deal with so much shit being thrown at him constantly, when the universe has decided to make him its own little junkie bitch. It’s in that charming way it has of pumping him full of amazing adrenaline that allows him to go from _holy-shit-academic-suspension_ , to allergic reactions, hauling ass, jumping off a drill, being thrown off a ship to deal with ice and _lobsters_ and crazy _time-travelling Vulcans with a boner for destiny_ , before getting his ass kicked some more as they save the world (or something like that).

No, but really. Old version of Spock? Pretty fucking rad, once you got over the whole mind-thing and the realization that he’s carrying around so much pain it’s _physically and mentally impossible to process without excessive overflow_. It takes Jim the better part of a month to sort out the remnants of memories and emotions that aren’t his own, and by then he’s so wrapped up in the aftermath of losing a founding planet of the Federation and a majority of its population, while Starfleet struggles with losing a chunk of its Fleet in one swell swoop, that Jim hardly has any time to linger on mysterious Vulcan mind-juju.

Actually, it isn’t until well after Khan and his own death that Jim finally sees Cave Spock outside of the comms they have fallen into sending each other as Jim became closer to Grumpy Spock (bless his sassy little Vulcan soul). It turns out that Jim’s death was traumatic to people other than just himself and Bones, which is more of a shock than he’s willing to let on. Aside from the intergalactic media shitstorm (“Starfleet’s Hero Captain Alive!”, “Inspiring Speech by Federation Hero Captain Kirk”, “Still Alive and Kicking! Exclusive on Captain Kirk and Crew”), Jim found himself promising ( _upon pain of getting his testicles removed_ ) to drop by New Vulcan sooner rather than later ( _or else_ ) by at least three different people. Even Winona had opened communication with him, though less of a shock than hearing from his brother after all these years. Apparently, Sam’s offended Jim already knew all about his sparkly new life as a scientist on a sad colony somewhere in Fuckville, Universe and had chosen not to swing by and say hi to a wife and kids Jim had never been introduced to. But he digresses.

The point being, before officially starting their 5-year mission, they have orders to do a supply run and transport of personnel to New Vulcan, top priority. This surprises everyone but Jim and Spock, who happen to be privy to Vulcan sneakiness and the influence of highly ranked Ambassadors and pissed off Vulcan females. However, turns out Spock knew less of their common Vulcan fanclub than Jim had assumed. 

“It was unknown to me that you are previously acquainted with my Father,” (Grumpy) Spock pouts (he totally does, Jim can tell) one evening over chess, the same night they had finished transporting up the last of the engineers and medical personnel. A few hours before their shift ended, they had left dock and entered warp for the new Vulcan colony.

“Well,” Jim says, moving his knight to destroy Spock’s trap just to see his left eye twitch (and also because it’s a move that will benefit the trap he himself will have formed in three moves). “I bumped into him once as a kid, he called the cops on me, and that’s about it. I thought he’d told you about me, if only as a cautionary tale.”

Spock sighing is one of the more amusing things to behold, because he just sort of narrows his eyes, and hitches his shoulders, in a weird twitchy dance of impatience. “He made no mention of you at the time, though he has explained himself after I inquired why he – requested – I extend an invitation for dinner to my Captain.”

Shrugging, Jim watches Spock’s tower trap his knight (just as planned). “I thought it was a bit weird, y’know. Cave Spock I get –“ another annoyed twitch from his Spock “—but your Dad? I don’t do parents. Shit, it’s gonna get real awkward, isn’t it?”

Spock looks fairly amused, though his expression darkens once Jim moves his Queen and takes his bishop, effectively killing Spock’s chances of putting Jim’s King in check in the next four moves. “I find that I have little sympathy for you, Captain.”

Grinning, Jim leans back and stretches, feeling his spine pop. “Sassy Vulcan. It’s Jim, remember?”

Spock raises his slanted brow. “Indeed. _Captain_.”

If his Spock is this much fun to interact with like this, Jim is actually looking forward to New Vulcan and the terrifying people that await him there, Cave Spock amongst them. An awkward dinner with his First Officer’s dad, and a quite possibly physically painful conversation with T’Pring, is nothing James T. Kirk couldn’t handle.

He hopes.

.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Jim gasps upon shimmering into existence at the meet-up point he and Spock had been transported to. Furiously, he whispers, “Oh fucking fuck, _what the fuck?!_ ”, all too aware of the fact that they’ve just been beamed down to the Vulcan Meet & Greet group, which is, in fact, standing _right there_. Consisting of two Vulcans, wow, they went all the way, huh? Sarcasm, not the best diplomacy skill, he admits.

Well, in other news: apparently, New Vulcan is hotter than Satan’s asscrack, its thin air as dry as Grandma Kirk’s raisin cookies, which combined translates to breathing in fucking _fire_.

“Welcome, Captain Kirk. I see the temperature of the planet does not agree with you, my apologies. I should have chosen a different place for our welcome,” a familiar voice drawls, its dry sarcasm obvious if one knows what to listen for. Jim grimaces subtly before taking a closer look at whom the Vulcans have decided to welcome him with, hoping against hope that—

Yeah, no such luck. “Ah, no need for apologies, _Okosu_ ,” he grins, enjoying the annoyed twitch he gets in response of the honorific. The amused but confused tilt of Cave Spock’s head (because of course he would be here to greet the Captain of the _Enterprise_ ) did catch his eye, though.

“T’Pring,” his Spock, who is standing to his right, greets stiffly. Whatever surprise he might’ve felt upon hearing his Captain greeting the Vulcan is well-hidden, though Jim is busy trying not to be caught on fire by the sheer power of the combined heat from both the planet and T’Pring’s glare. “Perhaps it would be beneficial to move this meeting into the building, for the Captain’s comfort.”

Narrowing her eyes, T’Pring doesn’t let her glare waver from Jim. Quite impressive. It is very clear she had orchestrated this as a punishment, though Jim thinks it’s unfair that most of the people he knows responded to his resurrection by submitting him to some kind of punishment. Tough love, or some shit. As if they could scare him away from dying, which, fair point, but ultimately moot. The lives of those he holds responsibility over, the live of those he cares for, will always come before his own.

“As you wish,” she concedes after a beat, turning sharply on her heel and taking the lead. If she was anyone but a Vulcan, ‘stomping’ would be a good description of what she is doing. Jim swallows uneasily.

“Captain,” Spock began, faltering slightly. “Jim. Are you…acquainted with T’Pring, as well?”

Following Cave Spock, who had been watching events unfold from a distance, a look of amused fascination on his face, Jim winces. “We had a thing where she bitched at me and I called her on her shit, way back. She might, possibly, be a little bit pissed that I died?”

“Indeed,” Cave Spock agrees, falling into line with them as they trailed after T’Pring. “It is most pleasing to see you again, old friend, though a surprise to learn you have met with T’Pring previously. She insisted it was logical that she be a part of the welcoming party, as she knew both of you, and is the head scientist in charge of several projects Starfleet personnel will be a part of. I would be most pleased to learn how your…friendship…came about. Are you free this evening, perhaps?”

Ignoring the obvious waves of discomfort coming from his own Spock, Jim laughs. “Sure! I’ve been looking forward to seeing you again. Just name a time and place, and I’ll be there.”

Looking pleased as punch, Cave Spock nods in approval. “Very well, Jim. 19:00, my residence. I shall comm. you the coordinates.”

“It’s a date!” Jim cheers, sneaking a glance at the Vulcan still huffing and puffing in front of them, likely hearing every word. “If I survive for that long, that is.”

“As previously proved by your own disregard of your continued health and existence, _Captain_ _Kirk,_ it might indeed be a challenge to remain alive between now and 19:00.” 

Jim winces. Man, Vulcan chicks knows how to hold _grudges_. He knows it’s bad when his own Spock is giving him glaringly obvious looks of concern.

.

“You have been standing outside the door without making your presence known for 4.3 minutes. Do you anticipate the Ambassador will know you have arrived without alerting him of your arrival?”

T’Sal watches with interest as the fair-colored Human jerks in surprise at the sound of her voice, spinning around to look for her where she stands to the right behind him. She blinks in surprise at the pair of luminous blue eyes which meet her own, feeling herself flush and unable to control it in time. A distressingly more common occurrence, this loss of control, though Ambassador Spock has assured her it is a natural response to the trauma the Vulcan people have suffered. Through the tentative familial bond they share after the Ambassador had accepted guardianship, T’Sal draws comfort and reminds herself that the Human before her – Captain James T. Kirk – will be more forgiving of her lack of control than her peers. From what she has gathered from the stories the Ambassador has told her, the Human might be more pleasant than any of her peers or Elders combined. It was entirely logical, therefore, that she finished her after-school activities early in order to be on time to greet the Ambassador’s guest. It was not eagerness, nor was it nerves as she had been accused of. Curiosity, the Ambassador always reminded her, was a healthy and logical state of mind.

“Oh shi—I mean, hello, sorry, I didn’t see you there. Are you T’Sal, the awesome Vulcan genius the Ambassador has been telling me all about?” Captain Kirk inquires, expressing delight through a particularly wide smile. T’Sal watches the display of emotion with fascination, noting that the blue of his eyes seems to brighten through some unknown factor (was it a chemical reaction? Note for further study). The corners of his eyes crinkle in wrinkles the Ambassador had called ‘laughter lines’ – a concept she had not understood until this moment – and she feels herself grow hot at the image he presents, combined with his words. Illogical, but unlike most of her losses of control, it is not entirely unpleasant.

“I am T’Sal,” she confirms quietly, pleased to be greeted with such obvious delight. It is only logical to desire a positive relationship with this Human which her guardian holds in such high esteem. Glancing down, she observes the Captain’s shoes still bear the dust from the desert. Quickly, she reaches up and tucks away a stray hair behind her left ear. She is not nervous, merely avoiding looking untidy. “Though I believe describing me as ‘awesome’ might be what you would call ‘hyperbole’. To a Human, I am most likely considered a ‘genius’ as my mental facilities are better equipped with processing and storing information. However, by Vulcan standards, I am…adequate.”

“Nah,” the Captain shrugs, making a dismissive gesture with his hand. “The Ambassador is one of the wisest and smartest people I know, and the only judgment I trust more is my First Officer’s. So if Cave Spock says you’re a BAMF genius, then you are.”

“I…” T’Sal begins, resisting the urge to place her hands on her cheeks and see if she could get burned from her own skin, but find she does not have to embarrass herself by not knowing what to say. The door to the Ambassador and her shared residence slide open to prevent it, the older Vulcan standing in the doorway with a raised brow and an amused expression, looking from the Captain to herself for a moment before speaking.

“I see both of you have arrived and become acquainted. Excellent. Jim, you may come inside, I have prepared dinner for us all. T’Sal, you may leave your bag in your room before joining us.”

Nodding, T’Sal slips past both adults, trying to ignore the sense of excitement which has threatened to rise for the past 1.2 weeks she has been aware of the Captain’s arrival. Mentally, she has compiled a list of questions pertaining his Captaincy, Starfleet and Human interests. She has been given a unique chance to familiarize herself with Captain Kirk beyond public records, an opportunity many of her peers envied. It would be foolish to waste it.

.

Vulcans, Jim decides, are adorable little fuckers. Old as dirt, middle-aged, his peer, or the Vulcan equivalent of a thirteen-year old: it didn’t matter what age, the amount of cute didn’t waver. Of course, he would never say it to their faces (especially not Ambassador Sarek, or T’Pring, or Grumpy Spock, or—well, anyone). But seeing T’Sal light up like a fucking candle the moment she steps on to the bridge is an experience of transcending proportions. Since their first meeting four days ago, Jim has officially acquired himself a President of the Jim Kirk Fanclub.

(No, really. It’s a thing, though T’Sal described it as a “ _more easily accessible platform on which to store the narratives of your missions and future exploration of the universe, for those who are interested in your exploits but unwilling to pursue unreliable public sources such as the media. Existing public records made by Starfleet are intended to convey the success of a mission to a concerned public sector not inclined to make enquiries about possible scientific, sociological, military and diplomatic aspects_ ”. He shits you not. Apparently, most of her schoolmates has joined, or subscribed, or whatever (Jim has so far been too scared to actually check it out). Uhura had _blanched,_ and Spock looked like someone was screeching in his ears every time T’Sal exercised her excellent stalker skills whenever Jim was planetside (which was often, involved as he was with getting the new personnel settled. Working alongside T’Pring, after she’d smacked him around in a ‘friendly’ sparring session, was entirely as awesome as he’d hoped)).

“This is the bridge,” Jim grins, amused by the green blush creeping up the Vulcan girl’s cheeks and turning the tips of her ears dark. He makes a sweeping motion with his arm, encompassing the whole bridge, before gently guiding her over to his chair with a hand on her shoulder. “This is my castle and this is my throne!”

A few laughs and groans echo his pronouncement, but the look on T’Sal’s face is as fascinated and eager as ever. Looking up at him, she says entirely straight-faced, “And is it where the magic happens, Captain?”

Jim blinks, because what the fu—

A strangled noise comes from the science station, where Jim turns to see Spock stand with eyes closed and brows furrowed, a PADD in his hand and his replacement officer standing next to him looking confused. Looking up, Spock seems to have composed himself. “Forgive me, Lieutenant. Everything is in order. Proceed.” He turns towards Jim, nodding stiffly. “Captain. As my briefing of the current bridge crew is complete, it is logical we return planetside to attend matters which require our immediate attention. Ensign Matthews is awaiting us in the transporter room.”

Confused, Jim looks to T’Sal, who seems to be glaring at his First Officer. Out of habit, Jim glances over at Uhura’s station for some sort of clarification, but he’s greeted with Lieutenant T’Naak’p, Uhura’s replacement, who looks like she’s about to burst out in giggles.

“Riiiight,” he drawls, no less confused than before (where was Uhura when you needed her?). “We just got here, Mister Spock, and—“

“Apologies, Captain. However, our presence is of high demand. Perhaps escorting an unauthorized civilian _child_ ” –if Jim didn’t know any better, he’d think Spock was glaring at T’Sal, which what the—  “on the bridge may be of less priority to both Starfleet and the Vulcan colony.” Spock’s bitchiness was clearly reaching critical levels. Time to scram, so to speak.

“Uh, sure,” he shrugs, giving T’Sal a smile in silent apology. Deciding that probably isn’t enough, he pats her gently on the shoulder, a gesture she had assured him was appropriate and welcome for their friendship (the thing about holding her hand seems less legit, as she had turned a fascinating shade of green at the offer she made him. Jim might not be an expert on Vulcans, but he could probably claim a PHD in embarrassing adolescent crushes). The Ambassador had backed this up with an amused twinkle in his devious eyes, but Jim was tentatively inclined to trust this, for now. Turning to Spock, he grins. “Lead on, Macduff!”

Ignoring a very sullen Vulcan teenager and his weirdly aggravated First Officer, Jim gave up the Grand Tour of the _Enterprise_ for another day.    

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Argh baby Vulcans and their crushes on Kirk in fics, it is my weakness <3 Also, oblivious!Kirk FTW. Poor Spock.


End file.
